


Tear you down

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: IT Fanfics [10]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Human Pennywise (IT), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-02 22:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: Bill shrugged. “I used to live here as a kid. I wanted to look around, check my old haunts.”“What places were those?”Bill opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, looking pensively out the window. He couldn’t remember. He recalled a few things, sure, but only places every kid would have visited. Arcades and shopping malls and the like. He was sure he and his friends had carved out much more interesting places for themselves – so why couldn’t he remember? In fact… now that he thought about it, he didn’t much remember his friends either. There had been Richie and Eddie… or was it Teddy?Maybe he had a case of early onset dementia, he thought sardonically. Or maybe his childhood memories hadn’t been as cherished as he’d assumed.Bill comes back to Derry for a Signing. It is ecstatic about this for all the wrong reasons.





	Tear you down

**Author's Note:**

> Been a while since I've written something with these two! I had a hankering, so this fic was produced. Enjoy!

His PR manager had suggested hosting a book signing at his home town of Derry, Maine. While Bill wasn’t entirely opposed to this idea, if only because he wouldn’t have minded visiting his childhood haunts, he remembered Derry as a small, untethered town that had been something of a nightmare to reach by vehicle. It would ostracise a good bulk of his fan base to host a signing there. A signing in New York would have led to a much bigger turnout and more media coverage, but his PR manager insisted upon Derry, informing Bill that ‘they could not always cater to the majority’. Being a writer of niche stories, Bill could understand that logic. That didn’t make it any less ridiculous to him that he was to fly all the way down to Derry for what would likely be a turn out of maybe twenty people (most of which probably wouldn't even know who he was).

The flight there was short and uneventful. He took a bus the rest of the way, sitting at the back with his luggage on his lap, concealing himself discreetly behind a newspaper. He was far too recognisable these days and he didn’t like being approached by people in places where he couldn’t make a hasty escape.

The Derry he arrived to failed to elicit in him the nostalgia he had anticipated. It was too different from his memories, too large and over populated and with a multitude of buildings he didn’t recognise. Many of the things he had enjoyed as a boy, such as the movie theatre or arcade, had been knocked down to make way for banks and supermarkets. The banks were especially disillusioning. This was not the Derry he had grown up with.

He rolled his luggage off the bus and entered the main street, hurrying to put space between himself and the bus stop so he could hail a cab. His motel was a fair distance away.

He’d become so accustomed to London, which had cabs waiting on every street corner, that it took him a good five minutes to realise he would need to call for the local cab company if he wanted to hail one. So he did, stating his location and destination and waiting patiently for his ride to arrive.

His gaze was drawn to the gutter. He remembered that the downpour in Derry used to get downright violent. He stared at the gutter for a long time, transfixed, before his cabs arrival startled him out of his reverie.

The cabdriver grabbed his luggage for him and dropped it into the trunk. Bill gave himself a shake and slid into the passenger seat, pulling on his seat belt. He wasn’t sure why he was thinking of rain. It was a lovely summers day. The heat pervaded every inch of the town, thick and welcoming, and it brought a blush to the surface of Bill's pale, freckled skin. Having spent so long living in the chill of England, he was always relieved when he got to visit warm places.

“It’s Hilton Hotel, right?”

Bill glanced at the rear view mirror, trying to spy the cab drivers face. They were busy setting the taximeter.

“That’s right,” said Bill, steadying himself on the door as the driver pulled off from the curb.

“Are you just coming by for a visit?” asked the cab driver. “Or is this business?”

Bill hated it when cab drivers tried to create small talk. They were obligated to do so, but rarely did cab drivers ever manage to talk to him in a way that didn’t make him feel awkward.

“It’s business,” he said, shrugging and fiddling with a loose thread on his seat belt.

“Oh? What kind of business?”

“I'm to have a signing done here in two weeks. You might have seen advertisements.”

“If it’s in two weeks, you’re a little early,” said the cab driver.

Bill shrugged. “I used to live here as a kid. I wanted to look around, check my old haunts.”

“What places were those?”

Bill opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, looking pensively out the window. He couldn’t remember. He recalled a few things, sure, but only places _every_ kid would have visited. Arcades and shopping malls and the like. He was sure he and his friends had carved out much more interesting places for themselves – so why couldn’t he remember? In fact… now that he thought about it, he didn’t much remember his friends either. There had been Richie and Eddie… or was it Teddy?

Maybe he had a case of early onset dementia, he thought sardonically. Or maybe his childhood memories hadn’t been as cherished as he’d assumed. He’d built up Derry to have been a haven in his mind, but he could barely remember anything about it.

“Usual places,” he answered, shrugging. “You know… arcades.”

“How about the barrens? I hear kids like to hang out there, even if their parents tell them not to.”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” Bill squinted out the window, looking at the approximate direction of the barrens and the forest it lead to. He couldn’t see anything over the clusters of buildings.

“Maybe? Seems like something you’d remember.”

“Well, I don’t,” said Bill, perhaps a little louder than necessarily, his frustration seeping into his voice. He sighed and slumped back into his chair. “Sorry, didn’t mean to get angry. I’m just realising I don’t remember much at all of my childhood. Makes me feel old.”

“I feel you,” said the cab driver, his voice full of sympathy. “I turned forty-two a few days ago and I might remember where I used to hang out, but I've completely forgotten where I learned to ride a bike and who half my friends were.”

“I’m thirty-two. Feel like I should remember, but-“ Bill flapped a hand. “Guess I just haven’t thought of my childhood enough. Maybe I should have kept a diary.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty.”

“Yeah.” Bill glanced at the taximeter. They ought to be approaching his destination. He fished his wallet out of his back pocket, popping the snap fastener and fumbling for what little cash he had on hand. He rarely used it these days. It was the age of the card.

The taxi abruptly stopped and the wallet spilled onto the floor, sending coins and money flying everywhere. Bill cursed.

“Sorry,” said the cab driver, glancing over his shoulder at Bill as Bill loosened his seat belt to gather his money. “Someone pulled out on me.”

“It’s fine,” said Bill, groping under the passenger seat for his coins. There was one lodged under the retraction bar. He couldn’t let it stay there or one of the cab drivers next passengers wouldn’t be able to adjust their seat. “It happens.”

He managed to get all of his money back into his wallet. All except that blasted coin. He dug a pen out of his pocket and used it to work at the coin, which refused to budge no matter how much pressure he applied. His efforts were futile.

When he resumed sitting upright, it was with the coin still stuck in the retractor. “Sorry,” he said, looking apologetically to the cab driver, and falling silent as green flashed in his peripheral vision. He followed it with his eyes and was startled to find they were driving through a forest, hundreds of pine trees surrounding them on both sides. He glanced back and saw the city of Derry receding from view, disappearing over a hill in the road.

“I think,” he said uncertainly. “I gave you the wrong address.”

“Huh?” the cab driver smiled at him through the rear view mirror. “You wanted Hilton Hotel, bed and breakfast, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s – it’s in the middle of town, isn’t it? I’m sure it was.” He looked to the GPS mounted on the windshield. “Look, it should say right... here...” He trailed off and leaned out of his seat to get a better look at the GPS. The map was wrong. It looked outdated. Entire buildings were missing and there weren’t nearly enough streets. “I think… I think you need to update your GPS, or…” He wasn’t sure the GPS could be helped at all if it was still loading maps from- he squinted at the date in the top right corner. Nineteen eighty-nine.

Bill stared at it for a long time, struggling to process what he was looking at. Nineteen eighty-nine. It wasn’t even until the late two thousands that GPS’s started being marketed. No one should be able to have a map from Nineteen eighty-nine. 

There was something wrong. Was this guy even a legitimate cab driver?

“P-pull over,” he demanded, suddenly so full of anxiety that the words stammered out of him. He hadn’t stammered in over a decade.

To his great surprise, the cab driver obliged. He came to a stop in the dirt and leaves on the side of the road, pulled on the park break, and turned in his seat to gaze at Bill.

With his neatly combed hair, narrow face, and big, black eyes, he had an approachable look to him. Bill might have even called him handsome were he not so on edge.

“Sorry,” said Bill. The confused way the cab driver was gazing at him compelled him to apologise. He must have seemed a right, paranoid fool. “Your GPS is acting odd.”

“It does that sometimes,” said the cab driver, shrugging, which further put Bill at ease.

“Yeah, I mean… electronics, huh?” Bill offered him a wavering smile, and the man smiled back, all teeth. “I think I must have booked the wrong hotel. Could you take me back to town?”

“On a nice day like this? You ought to walk back,” said the cab driver, laughing. Bill followed with his own laughter, albeit with less mirth. The joke hadn’t been that funny.

“I don’t exercise regularly. It's best that men like me just take cabs.”

“Really, now?” The driver clucked their tongue in disapproval. “What would _Georgie_ think? He was always such an outdoorsy type.”

Bill's heart skipped a beat. “I- I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you know,” said the cab driver, shrugging and throwing up his hands in an exaggerated manner, still grinning from ear to ear. “Your little brother loved the outdoors, and he loved you most of all. He might not be too happy to hear his big brother is neglecting to exercise.”

Bill took an unsteady breath, reaching for the door handle with a shaking hand.

Georgie. His brother. He’d had a little brother – _the rain had fallen hard that day. Hard and thick, and Bill had desperately wanted to join his brother outside and splash through the puddles as their little newspaper boat raced through the gutter-_

_“We call boats she, Georgie,”-_

The cab driver crawled into the back with him. He threw open his door, making a desperate lunge for freedom. He didn't get far before a chilled hand coiled around his ankle, its long nails brushing his pallid skin, and he kicked and kicked it until he was free and rolled his way out of the back seats, crawling on his hands and knees through dirt and leaves. He didn’t look behind him to see if the cab driver- if _It_ was following, belting into the forest as fast as his legs could carry him.

How could have he forgotten It? How could have he forgotten _Georgie_? He ignored the branches that whipped into him as he ran, paying no mind to the pearls of blood that surfaced on his skin. He didn’t feel the pain. He didn’t feel much of anything over the rush of adrenaline, blinded to everything but the need to escape and find safety.

He needed to find people. Be among people. It would not attack when there were witnesses. He remembered that much from his childhood, though it was still coming back to him in vague, flittering stills rather than as a bundle of comprehensive memories.

He ran even as his lungs began to burn, even as his thighs ached in protest and his head swam with exhaustion. He ran as fast as he could, as far as he could, putting as much distance between himself and It as was possible.

He didn’t stop until his lungs gave out on him, forcing him to lower himself (or fall, rather) onto the roots of a tree and hungrily draw in lungfuls of air. His inhales were so violent that they rocked his entire body. A wave of dizziness sent him even lower and he curled over his legs, his head falling between his knees.

It had been a very, very long time since he had exerted himself to that extent.

The moment he had enough strength to do so, he raised his head to survey his surroundings. He saw no clowns lurking behind the trees, nor any handsome men preparing to leap out at him from behind a bush. He swiped his hair out of his eyes and stood, his legs shaking under his weight. The running had done a number on him. He wasn't likely to be able to walk properly for a few days.

Far off in the distance, he could see the backs of buildings. He groaned softly as he began to walk toward them. Having lost his luggage, he was going to need to report his passport missing. Getting a replacement could take weeks, so he’d have to phone the UK embassy while he was at it and see if they could help him get a ticket to New York, where he would host an impromptu signing instead. He wanted to get as far away from Derry as possible before night fell. He could not stay here. Not even for one night.

A branch cracked. Bill froze, holding his breath. He turned slowly, finding a broken stick sitting in fragments behind him. Had he stepped on that? – No, it couldn’t have been him. He hadn’t felt it.

He took a step back, and then another, keeping his eyes trained on the area beyond the stick, watching hard for a slip of white or orange. He couldn’t remember quite what It looked like, but he knew there had been orange. The brightest orange he had ever seen. 

His retreat was hindered by a log catching under his heels. He flailed his arms as he toppled back towards the earth and what he hoped would be cushioning detritus, but it was not the earth that met him.

It was hands.

They coiled around him like snakes, pulling him out of the air and into the folds of an off-white clown suit that smelt of mildew and blood. He writhed in Its grip, opened his mouth to yell for help, but neither of these things did him any good. He clawed his fingers into Its forearms and he wanted to scream. He knew struggling wouldn’t do anything, he _knew_ it, but he did it anyway out of fear and desperation.

But he didn’t let himself scream. That was what It wanted, and he would not give It what it wanted.

“Welcome home, Little Buddy,” It said, leaning down to graze its nose along the shell of his ear, Its impossibly cool skin sending a chill rocking through him. It closed Its hand over his mouth and nose. “We need to catch up. Go to sleep.”

His breaths turned wheezing, desperate, ragged. The hand permitted too little air into his lungs for him to breathe. He pulled at Its arms, twisted his fingers into the soft, white skin beneath and drew forth a slimy blood that crawled under his nails, but it did nothing to help him. His vision darkened around the edges. He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t

* * *

His head throbbed madly when next he opened his eyes. Disorientated as he was, rendered so by the violence with which he had been made unconscious, it took him several minutes to remember what had happened and where he was.

The moment the confusion had passed, he sat upright fast enough to send himself rolling down a small hill of toys and children clothes that he’d been thrown onto. He landed hard at the bottom, scraping his palms along the floor and bloodying his skin, drawing forth a series of whimpering groans.

His clothes were soaked. He shivered violently, pulling himself onto his hands and knees, crawling through the filth and water for the first pipe exit he saw. His heart thundered in his chest.

It was here. It had caught him. It had taken him into the sewer. It was a monster. It killed people. It killed children. It had killed Georgie. It had hurt Stan. It had hurt all of them. It – It was here somewhere, lurking, and suddenly Bill was incensed rather than scared, because Georgie, it had killed Georgie, and it’d had the gall to mock him with Georgie’s memory. He was starting to remember most things, but Georgie was what was at the forefront of his mind.

His fingers brushed something hard and heavy. He picked up a long, metal pole. It was one of those pellets Mike had brought, the ones traditionally used on sheep. Too bad he didn’t have the gun that came with it.

He held the weapon close as he moved, slower now as he only had one hand available to drag himself along with.

“Where do you think you’re going, Little Buddy?”

Bill turned to strike It with the pole. It connected, drawing forth a grunt, but he wasn’t given long to marvel at his success as It was quick to yank the pole out of his fingers and throw it aside. It crawled on top of him and pinned him to the filthy, wet floor with Its significant weight.

He was thirty-two. Thirty-two, and he still felt so much smaller than the clown. It towered over him even while It was sitting, its large, taloned hands pressing his shoulders flat to the ground.

“Rude little boy, aren't you. We haven’t even started this reunion and you’re already trying to leave.” It clucked Its tongue, saliva dripping down from either side of Its mouth in long, stringy lines. Bill had to twist himself in order avoid getting it on his face.

“G-get the fuck off me,” he snarled, grimacing at the stammer in his voice. 

Its brow furrowed as it examined him. Even through the darkness, Bill could see the damage he and the Losers had inflicted on It two decades earlier had not yet healed. Great fissures had developed on Its skull, sending black bleeding into Its white skin, staining Its forehead and eyes and mouth. The effect was unsettling rather than rewarding.

“Get off you?” the clown said thoughtfully, its hands fanning over Bill’s chest, raking down. It would have been so easy for it to slice into his skin. It would have been like slipping a knife into butter. “How about I do a combination of those words, hm?”

Bill squirmed beneath It. “What the f-fuck does t-that mean?”

“Get off you.” The clown smiled slowly, pulling its lips back from its jagged teeth. “Get you off.”

Bill’s breathing stuttered in his throat. It was trying to scare him. It was drawing on his fears, and being sexually assaulted was an obvious one. Everyone feared that. “I’ll ki-kill you, me and the L-Losers, we’ll-“

“Oh, you can try,” It interrupted, laughing. “You can try. I’ll even let you! But it won’t work. Nothing can kill I.”

Bill kicked his legs, groped at Its knees, curled his body, and it all did very little to hinder It from slipping its hands under his shirt, yanking it up until it was under his chin. He tried to cover himself with a forearm, but it battered it out of the way and spread a palm over his heaving chest.

“I just want to give you something to remember me by, Billy.”

A thumb brushed over his left nipple. Bill choked on a gasp.

“Y-you’re weak,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’ll call t-the Losers.”

“You won’t remember long enough to try.”

“I will, I will, I- gh- god!” Its nails had bitten into his skin. He grit his teeth, shaking uncontrollably as it raked its fingers down his chest, drawing thin, red, _burning_ lines into Bill’s skin. It took everything Bill had not to scream.

His chest became slick with blood. He didn’t dare look. He knew there was a lot of it and he did not respond well to seeing his own blood. He was liable to pass out and he didn’t want to imagine what It would do to him while he was unconscious.

He felt Its breath on his skin, gathering around his pectorals, and his eyes snapped open of their own volition just in time to watch It swipe the flat of Its slimy, blue tongue over his wounds. He tried to yank It off by Its hair, but it seemed more amused by his attempts than anything else. Blood had smeared across Its lips – Bill’s blood.

“Don’t,” he pleaded. He couldn’t stop the words from coming. “Don’t. Just- just kill me, don’t d-do this.”

“You would rather _die_ than be with me?” It asked in a faux hurt voice. It slapped a hand to Its chest, as though pained. “Oh Billy, I thought I _meant_ something to you.”

“Fuck you,” said Bill miserably.

It cackled. “We’re getting there.” Its hands descended to the waistband of his trousers and Bill practically leapt out of his skin.

“No!” he cried, grabbing at Its wrists, attempting to wrench it off. “Get the fuck off me, you s-sick, twisted…!”

The clown was no longer sitting upon him. It was now the cab driver with his dark hair and pale skin. The hands and teeth remained dark, monstrous, jagged, but the rest of him – of _It_ was normal.

“Is this what you want, Billy?” It popped his jeans button, pulled down the zipper.

Bill had just managed to recover from his surprise when It curled a hand around his cock, Its nails scraping delicately on the inside of his thighs. It began to move, and none too gently at that, Its thumb striking his frenulum with each upward stroke. Bill would have liked to deny that it felt good, but it did feel good, and he had to clench his teeth to stop the soft, wanton sounds that gathered in his throat.

“There you are.” It reached across his body, Its fingers finding his mouth, scraping over his teeth as It stroked. “Willing for a pretty body.”

Bill would have liked to reply, to protest, but with Its fingers in his mouth, he couldn’t say much of anything. He managed a few, feeble grunts and gripped at Its wrist, more holding than attempting to push It away.

It didn’t take long for his breaths to turn into pants. His hips bucked against his own volition, his cock already beading with pre-come. It had been a while since he’d last touched himself. With how busy he was these days, there wasn’t enough time to indulge in the simple pleasure of masturbation.

It sped up, Its tongue – still blue – swiping along Its lips as It watched Bill quake under Its ministrations. Tension gathered in Bill’s pelvis. His thighs clenched. His mouth fell open, and both his fingers and toes curled, and before he could even think to stop himself, he was moaning and arching up into Its talented fingers, spilling into Its palm.

Bill slumped to the ground, dizzied by the intensity of his orgasm. He hadn’t received that good a hand job since university. The footballer boyfriend he'd at that period of his life had known just how to touch him to make him lose his mind…

But it was not his footballer boyfriend who was crouched over him now. It was It, a monster, a murderer, and It was milking the last few bits of seed from his cock with a deftness his ex-boyfriend had never possessed.

The creature shifted atop him. Even with normal proportions, It was abnormally heavy, keeping him pinned to the ground. It removed Its fingers from Bill’s mouth and grasped him by the chin, dragging him forward until they were face to face.

“You liked it.”

Bill’s cheeks burned with shame. There was no denying that. He’d come within three minutes of being touched. That was pathetic even for someone who hadn’t masturbated in a while.

“I loathe you,” he hissed, and It laughed. The sound echoed off the walls.

“You _liked_ it,” It said again, grinning with those thin, jagged teeth that were irreconcilable with the rest of Its normal, handsome features. He didn’t like this form much more than he did the clown. It was firmly situated in uncanny valley.

“Why w-would you do this?”

Its fingers slipped into his hair, grasping the strands hard enough to make Bill wince.

“Why not?” It asked, and It claimed Bill’s mouth, licking into it, tasting every inch of Bill It could reach. He felt Its tongue on his front incisors before It delved deeper, tasting his hard palate and leaving the tang of blood in Its wake. Bill gagged. He tried to bite down, but It fisted Its hand tighter around his hair, drawing forth a cry that kept his mouth nice and wide for it to plunder. It didn’t seem satisfied until every one of Bill’s senses, his taste and smell and sight and touch, were filled with _It_.

Bill spat the moment he was free to do so. It seemed amused by this display.

“Onto the main event.”

“Like hell-“ Bill started to protest, but being flipped over onto his stomach stole the rest of his words from his mouth.

It bent over him, a hardness settling against Bill's thigh. He tried to glance back to see just how large it was, because it certainly felt large, larger than anything else Bill had ever put inside himself, but It prevented him from doing so by draping an arm across his back. His trousers were tugged the rest of the way down his legs. Bill fisted his hands, bracing for what was to come.

Instead of the cock, fingers dipped into him, the very fingers It had used to catch his come. They had turned soft, smooth, and they rubbed insistently at a place inside of him that made him writhe and dig his nails into his palms. Any thoughts of objection he’d had were driven from his mind by the swell of pleasure Its ministrations produced.

“Humans are so easy,” It murmured, speaking into his hair, Its breath rolling over his scalp. It pressed in deeper, rubbed harder, and Bill wasn’t able to choke back a moan.

He hadn’t had been with a man since his time in University, and nor had he indulged in anal sex. He’d forgotten just how _good_ it could feel. That it was Its fingers stimulating him, drawing him toward yet another orgasm, didn’t seem to much matter while he was so dizzy with arousal and pleasure. He was losing focus of where he was and who he was with, and surely this couldn’t be normal; he’d never forgotten himself during sex to this degree before, but It wasn’t giving him the opportunity to think on that long. It was getting him so worked up that he was close to forgetting his own name.

He tore his fingers into the ground and let out one long, guttural cry as It sent him shuddering through another orgasm. He spilled onto the filthy sewer floor. His thighs clenched through the last few swells of euphoria, and then the exhaustion that accompanied completion compelled him to slump over. He panted hard, his breaths disturbing the water by his face.

Twice. He’d come twice. When was the last time that’d happened? He couldn’t remember, assuming it had ever happened at all.

He only managed to suck in a few more breaths before Its cock came to sit between his legs. He tried to look back, but It continued to hold him to the ground by a forearm, ensuring he remained trapped in place. What he could feel was cold, large, and slick. Normal in appearance, as far as he could tell, but much bigger than anything he’d ever put inside himself. He swallowed, pushing away the dizziness in favour of trying to figure out what his next course of action should be.

“Wa-wait,” he said uncertainly, once again trying to look over his shoulder and failing. “Wait, you need lubrication. It'll- it’ll split me. I’ll-“ Why was he even saying this? He didn’t particularly want to die via sex, but clearly that wouldn’t be an issue for It. In fact, he was sure It would be quite happy to fuck him into death.

As though It could read his thoughts, It snickered. “You won’t die, Little Buddy. I can make sure of that.” Its thumb brushed over his entrance, eliciting a shiver. “Oh no, no, when you return with your little friends, I’m going to do this over, and over… and I’ll make them watch before they die.”

A surge of nausea sent bile into Bill's throat. He swallowed it back down. “We’ll win. We'll beat you.”

“There’s uncertainty in your voice. There _should_ be.” The creatures cock slowly breached him, turning the retort he'd just been about to voice into a long, startled whine. It was just as big as he’d thought. “I’ll kill them and I’ll keep you. I’ll keep you in my deadlights, and you will live, and live…” It curled over Bill, murmuring against the shell of an ear. “And you will wish you had died along with your friends.”

Its first thrust rendered his mind blank. He grappled for some self-control, just a slither, and failed to find any as It snapped its hips against his thighs again, sending Its cock drilling into his sensitised prostate. His eyes rolled back; he arched his spine; his mouth fell open, and he must have looked obscene, but he didn’t care. It felt so good, better than anything he’d ever felt before.

It was worse than pain would have been. This was losing control in an entirely new, humiliating way, and within two thrusts he was already at the point where he thought he might have done this _willingly_. He might have put up with the humiliation just to _feel_ this. It thrust again and he groaned, and then again, hitting his prostate once more, and he screamed out a loud, shrill ‘ahh’ that echoed off the sewer walls. It was the most obscene sound he’d ever made during sex.

“You sound so good, Billy,” It murmured. “ _Feel_ so good.”

It started a suitably rough, punishing rhythm and it wasn’t long before Bill was pushing back against every thrust, drinking in every bit of pleasure despite himself. He might be humiliated later, angry at his reciprocation, but right now, he hadn’t the presence of mind to fight.

Before he could crescendo into his next orgasm, It grasped him by the arms and flipped him over, pulling his legs over Its shoulders. _It's still in human form_ , he thought vaguely. Almost human, anyway. No human had those teeth and certainly not those bright orange eyes. 

“Beautiful little Billy,” It said, Its eyes roving over his body, drinking in the sight of his flushed, dishevelled form. It had deprived him completely of his dignity.

He came again. His third _orgasm,_ and he was sure he was going to be empty by the time this was through. He writhed his way through the orgasm and It continued on without so much as a pause, thrusting hard and deep, sending his back skating across the ground. There came another orgasm not long after, and another, and he lost track of how many after the fifth one as his mind became too overwrought to do anything but compel him to moan and shudder and scream. Even that became too much at some point, and he fell still beneath It, his vision wavering and blackening around the edges.

“Not going to pass out on me, are you, Billy?”

Bill tried to open his mouth, to say no, he wasn’t, and then proceeded to do exactly that.

* * *

How Bill had ended up in the back of a cab with his belongings stuffed in beside him, Bill couldn’t recall. He had simply woken up there, sweaty and dirty and smelling like he'd rolled around in a gutter.

His backside hurt with a passion. Had he gotten drunk? Had a one-night stand with a man? It certainly felt that way, and it wouldn’t be the first time, though he hadn’t done such a thing with a _man_ in over a decade.

“Excuse me,” he said, his head throbbing in time with every word. The cab driver, a balding black man, glanced into the rear view mirror. He had warm brown eyes. “How did I get here?” he asked.

“You got drunk off your ass,” said the man, grinning. “Had to be hauled into the back. But don’t worry, you won’t miss your flight.”

“My flight?”

“To New York. Your friend told me to mention that the tickets are in the front pocket of your suitcase.”

Bill pulled his suitcase closer and tore the front zipper open, reaching inside. He withdrew the plane ticket the man had referenced.

Hadn’t he had a signing in Derry…? No, he had cancelled it. He’d cancelled it and decided he would book a flight back to New York. He remembered determining that he would do that, though he couldn’t remember actually booking the flight, nor the context of his decision. It was odd to have such a vast blank in his memory, but this was far from the first time Bill had gotten black out drunk and found himself in a foreign place and with foreign things loaded into his bag. At least this time he probably hadn't gone on a spending spree on Ebay. He’d blocked the site on his laptop due to his tendency to buy shit he didn’t need and he wasn’t likely to have been functional enough to remove that block while drunk.

He sighed, slumping back into his chair and rubbing the small of his back. The pain there demanded his attention. He’d have to swallow a few aspirin when next he managed to get his hands on a bottle of water. Hopefully whoever he’d slept with had used a condom.

“Who was my friend, anyway?” he asked.

“They called themselves Robert,” said the cab driver, shrugging. “That’s a good friend you have there. Mine would just put my hand in water or something if they found me as black out drunk as you were.”

“Robert?” He furrowed his brow. He didn’t _know_ a Robert. “Are you sure you didn’t mishear? I don’t know any Robert’s. None that live around here, anyway.”

“Dunno. I might’ve.” He shrugged again.

Bill scrubbed a hand over his face. This Robert must have been his one-night stand. A decent enough guy if he'd been willing to load Bill into a cab to ensure he didn't miss his flight, even if he _had_ had sex with a drunk guy. Or maybe it had been guilt that made them help Bill. It was hard to say, seeing as he couldn’t remember a damn thing about the guy.

“How far are we from Derry?” he asked.

“’Bout two hours. The bills going to be a bit of a doozy, since we got one more before we reach the airport, but the guy – Robert – said you wouldn’t mind paying. And double, to make it worth my while.” The cabbie glanced into the rear view mirror again. “Is that right, or…?”

“It’s fine.” He could spare the money. He’d probably get a refund on the hotel he’d booked anyway, seeing as he hadn’t so much as stepped into reception. He would get half back, at the very least. That would cover the taxi.

The cab driver nodded. “Good, ‘cus I’m definitely going to need the fuel money.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Bill glanced out the window and watched the sky light up with the first few rays of dawn. The blue steadily gave way for pink. A lovely colour. It wasn’t often he got to see such a sight. His apartment in England afforded him few mornings worth observing. Perhaps one day he would buy a little house somewhere out in the country, somewhere with lots of sky and rolling hills. It would be colder than the city, most likely, but living away from the city had two things Bill found irresistible: greenery and privacy.

There was some degree of relief in being far away from Derry. While he would have liked to see his childhood home, arriving in Derry had created in him a strange uneasiness. The nostalgia of it being his childhood town hadn't been enough to rid him of that. Besides, there was nothing holding him in Derry anymore. Not his mother, or father, or his friends. There was nothing to draw him back there except the pleading of his PR manager, and he decided he would never again let them coerce him into going somewhere he didn’t particularly care to go.

Derry was better left in the past, as a distant memory.


End file.
